The True Story of the Opera Ghost
by VictoriaLRoss
Summary: Gaston Leroux is to write an article about the 30th anniversary of the Opera Populaire and comes across the mysterious story of the Phantom of the Opera.
1. Chapter 1

_This is going to be the dullest article I've ever written, _Gaston thought as he went through notes detailing the management of the Paris Opera House. The 30th anniversary of the Opera House was fastly approaching, and he editor wanted a piece on the history of the place. So far, he hadn't found anything remotely interesting. Notes were few and far between, and mostly detailing changes in staff.

He was just about to give up when he came across a note signed "O.G". It was in regards to the replacement of the current diva Carlotta with a chorus girl by the name of Christine Daee. A few papers later, he found an invoice for a replacement chandelier for the main auditorium. Daee, chandelier, O.G.? Gaston got up and wandered around the manager's office. Papers were strewn all over the place, bookcases were filled with sheet music, yellowed folders, and small musical instruments were shoved in as bookends.

Gaston stood there puzzling, wondering if this Christine Daee and the mysterious "O.G." were somehow connected. He sat back down and searched through the other files from that time period. More and more notes from the mysterious "O.G." were popping up. Notes demanding his monthly "allowance", changes in the line up for the chorus, and more notes about Miss Daee. Gaston scribbled on his writing tablet to remind him to look in the newspapers from that time to see if any of these strange incidents had been reported. He hadn't remembered ever seeing articles about a Christine Daee, but he would check again to be sure. At the very least, his story was getting more interesting.

Just then Monsieur Georges walked into the office, "Monsieur Leourx, I trust you are finding the information you require?"

Gaston folded up the invoice, stuffed it into his pocket and turned around, "Yes, I think I am finding enough information to truly do justice to this place."

"Oh, very good," Georges replied smiling. "Do you have any questions I may be able to answer?"

"Just one," Gaston said. "Who is…or was, O.G.?"

Georges paled dramatically, looking as if he were going to faint, but quickly recovered. He laughed shortly and shrilly, "Oh, that is what the chorus girls called the 'Opera Ghost'. It was just a big hoax uncovered by our own Madame Giry, the ballet mistress of the time. Her daughter Meg has taken over that position and if you would like, I could arrange a meeting," he offered.

"I think that would be perfect, Madame Giry…." Gaston began.

"It's Mademoiselle Giry, Madame Giry has since retired many years ago," Georges corrected him.

"Ah yes, still I think it would be fortuitous for me to speak with her before the anniversary, do you not agree?"

Georges sat down at the messy desk, pulling out an address book, "If it will help with your paper's article, I will make sure she is available to speak with you."

"Thank you Monsieur," he replied bowing.

Georges nodded curtly and motioned for him to leave. Gaston smiled to himself as he made his way out of the Opera House, and thought that perhaps this anniversary article would not be too boring, ghost stories were all the rage now. Why, just the other day, he had been with some of his associates at the paper, and they had been discussing the latest piece by the American, Henry James. Yes, indeed, a ghost story complete with an eyewitness testimony would be just what the paper needed.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later found Gaston back at the opera house, this time for a meeting with Madame Giry, the former ballet mistress (he had spoken with her daughter the day before about interviewing her mother). Monsieur Georges led him backstage, and he marveled at the sets waiting patiently in the wings for their turn to come out and shine. From the look of the sets backstage, it looked like the opera was preparing a production of the opera, Faust. How appropriate, Gaston thought, for a place with a "ghost".

Madame Giry was easy to find, she was sitting in dressing room thirteen, sitting straight up in her chair facing the mirror. Her appearance was that of a stern school mistress, and if there was any fear in the woman, it certainly didn't show outwardly to anyone else.

"Madame Giry, I presume?" he asked as he entered the dressing room.

She looked up briefly, nodded, and returned to staring at the mirror. "From the last night Christine Daee was in this room, I have come back, always waiting. Waiting to see if he will ever return," she said quietly, almost absent-mindedly. She turned to him and he could see that age and worry had gotten the best of her, she looked like a woman who had seen more than her share of tragedies. "So, they tell me you are a newspaperman interested in the story of the Opera Ghost," she said.

Gaston leaned up against the wall and smiled confidently, "The people, they love a good ghost story."

Madame Giry sighed, "No, this cannot be how we begin Monsieur. First, you must understand…non, you must accept that the Opera Ghost really existed, he was not just a superstition that the management and my girls kept. Yes, he was real, I had known him for longer than his short time as the Opera Ghost. When I knew him, he was not a Phantom, Ghost, or anything too terrific to imagine. To me, he was Erik, a child. The child of my dear friend and employer, his mother Madeline.


	3. Chapter 3

Ah, Madeline, she was a kind mistress, but how she did despise that child. I was with her the night he was born you know. Oh, the screams, her screams could have waked the dead, and when little Erik was born, we all thought they had.

How can I describe Erik as a babe? He was not like anything anyone had ever seen, and though our natural reaction was to recoil in horror at his death-like face, but his voice…why even then his voice could enchant us simple women. When he would cry, you could feel your heart tear apart in your chest and the body ached for him. At least that's how the other servants would tell me it was like to be near him, but Madeline, she hardly ever went near him. I remember, one time, speaking to her about Erik.

"Madeline, how often do you spend time with him?" I asked her.

She looked at me with an annoyed look, tossing her hair behind her, "I see him at least once a month. I have one of the braver servant girls bring him to me, but once a month is about all I can stand, he's a hideous creature."

My chest constricted and I felt a warmness going through my body as I seethed with unforeseen anger. I looked at her, always the pretty one, always the one people looked up to, but inside, she was a callous, cold-hearted woman. She only cared for herself and looked at Erik and his suffering as an inconvenience to her life. The love I once had for my friend and employer vanished in that instant and I said to her coldly, "Madeline, he is your son, you owe it to him to spend some time with him. You are all the family he has since Charles died, and it is unfair to make him grow up thinking that everyone around him hates him and wishes that he had never been born."

Her eyes grew small and her lips drew into a thin line. "Adele, I can't believe you would say such things to me! We have been friends for so long, how can you say such hateful things?"

She thought I would fall for that innocent routine, but I was now wise to her ways and would not be drawn into feeling sorry for her. I felt as if there were a sheet of ice over where my heart lay and all I could think and feel was for that child. Though, at that time, I had not had a child of my own, I could not understand how she could just carelessly toss her son, the only remaining memory of her precious Charles. "I am not saying them to hurt you," I said to her softening a little when I saw her tearing up. "It's just not right to treat him in this manner…."

"Oh, don't I know it!" she cried standing up and stomping around the room like a spoiled child. "Everyone comes by to pass along their condolences, and I can see in their eyes that they do not approve of how I treat Erik, but my Lord Adele, you've seen the child! That thing, it's not natural! That face…" she said collapsing in one of the chaises on the rotunda. "Oh Adele, that face, it haunts me in my dreams. How could the love that Charles and I had create such a monster?" she sobbed.

I put my arms around her and let her cry on my shoulder. Perhaps, I thought, I was being too harsh on her. She had lost her husband and given birth to a child with a very unusual deformity all within a few months of each other, and I expected her to be less of a spoiled brat about it. "It will be all right Ma Petite, I promise."

She looked up at me through her tear-stained eyes with a look of hopefulness. "Do you think so Adele? Sometimes I feel…I feel as if life will never be the same."

I rocked her gently in my arms and tried to reassure her and calm her until she finally drifted off into sleep.

"Madame Giry, are you quite all right?" Gaston interrupted placing a hand on her arm.

She looked up and smiled gently. "Yes Monseiur, I am all right." She sighed placing a hand on her breast. "You will have to excuse me sir, this is the first time I have spoken to anyone about Madeline and Erik."

"Pray continue then Madame," Gaston prompted her.

"Ah, now where was I? Yes, Madeline and her hatred of that poor child…"

Things continued along that vein for many years after my initial conversation with Madeline. She did eventually acquiesce to my request to spend more time with him and even brought in a tutor to teach him during the night, but the nights were his. Oftentimes when I would finish up my work for Madeline, I would find myself wandering through the house almost hypnotized by the melodic sounds coming out of the harpsichord that she had insisted be brought from her parent's house when she and Charles married. I would find him playing furiously upon it, his entire being focused solely on the music, and who could blame him? The music was such that I have not heard anything like it from anyone else to this day.

One particular night that I had wandered into the room where he played, I sat down on one of the sofas on the far wall, far enough away that I hoped not to disturb him. His fingers flew across the keys and I could see his black hair falling loosely across his face as he played on and on. I cannot to this day place what melody he was playing and have often assumed that it must have been of his own composition, but who had ever heard of such a young child composing his own music? I smiled to myself thinking that perhaps Madeline had found a genius in this small child, something she would no doubt be proud of.

When the song finally came to an end, I made a motion to get up and leave for the evening when he turned around and looked at me. "Adele," he said solemnly.

I stood there, almost paralyzed. I felt foolish for a moment for being embarrassed for being caught listening to him. "Good evening Erik," I replied.

"How long have you been here?" he asked his hand playing at the keyboard, just a little scale, so simple for him.

"Just a few moments, I had finished up my work for your mother and heard you playing. You are quite good you know, has your tutor been giving you lessons?" I inquired.

Erik laughed suddenly, a sound that was like the tinkling of bells in a rectory. "Hardly Mademoiselle. My…tutor knows only of the logical things, to him, music is most…illogical," he almost spat out.

"Well, he must not have heard any good music," I said smiling.

"That, I can guarantee," Erik said.

Feeling a little more at ease now, I ventured to ask if his mother had ever considered lessons for him. His brow furrowed and he scowled at me.

"I highly doubt that Madame has had a moment to consider much of anything. As you know Adele, she is a very busy woman."

I pressed on, feeling that with some proper instruction he could become a wonderful musician and the toast of Paris someday. "But Erik, she must know how talented you are, why you are more talented than some of the musicians that I have seen come through town!" He snickered, "I doubt that would be difficult. No, Madame has not considered music lessons for me. I had asked once…" he trailed off turning back towards the sheet music sitting there and playing a few more lines. "But Adele, Mother believes that my time would be better spent on pursuits that would be of some value to the world. I do not mind so much now, she gives me the nights to play in here to my heart's content and during the days I appease her by studying the lessons from my tutor. He does say I am an excellent student in architecture."

"Well, I suppose that is a good arrangement if it makes you happy," I responded feeling a little sorry for him being kept from the one thing that he enjoys the most during the day.

"It works well enough, though I doubt anything will ever make me happy," he said. "In any case, I do enjoy studying architecture, I'm fascinated by buildings. Why, did you know that this house was built in the early 1700's by a once honored nobleman?"

"No I didn't Erik, that is interesting. I believe your mother picked it because of its remoteness, she liked being somewhat set apart from the rest of the village," I said.

"She would," he whispered as I made ready to leave.

"Well, Erik, I shan't keep you much longer. I have a long walk back to my home, but I'll be back tomorrow to help your mother. Would you play me out?" I asked gathering up my skirts as I started to leave.

"I would be honored to," he said as he started a lively song that had me almost skipping along the walk and wistfully thinking of my days as a ballet dancer with the Paris Opera. I had had to give up the ballet many a year ago, before I even met Madeline, when my father had fallen ill. I was an only child and my mother had died when I was born, there was no one else left to take care of him in his final days. So, I had quit the ballet and moved to this village during my father's last days on this earth.

I hadn't intended on staying after his death, the memories were almost too much to bear, but when I heard that the opera was disbanding after the spring season, I felt as if there was no where else for me to go. So, I worked odd jobs, sewing, cooking and taking care of other people's children until Madeline and Charles moved into the estate a few miles from the village. She had found me working for one of the local seamstresses and asked me to accompany her to her new home to help her decorate, she said I had an eye for color and style. I am not quite sure that I entirely believe that, but I did help her decorate that estate and after the job was done, she asked me to stay on and help with any sewing projects that needed done around the house, and with as many outfits as Madeline liked to wear, there seemed to always be something needed to be mended.

But I did miss the ballet and Erik's music made me long for those days at the opera where I would get hopelessly caught up in the music and dance until I finally would fall into bed exhausted. I reflected on this as I left that night, and on my entire walk home that evening, I could almost swear, I could still hear the music echoing in my mind.

After that first night when I was caught by Erik, I stopped by several times over the next few months to hear him play and to talk to him. With each passing day, he was becoming more and more talented and growing bored of his daytime tutoring. Madeline thought that I was much too indulgent to his music, which she regarded as an annoying habit that he had taken up. Perhaps I was, but it was so unusual and beautiful at the same time, that I couldn't help but want to hear more from him.

One night, several years later, I was just coming from giving Madeline notice that I would be leaving soon when I found Erik sitting at the harpsichord staring blankly at the music in front of him. I curtsied as I entered, "Good evening Erik."

He turned to me sighing, "Good evening Adele, I hope you are well tonight." "Quite," I replied sitting down on one of the sofas, ready for my evening concert. "I came to tell you that I will leaving in the next two weeks."

His eyes widened, "What?!"

"Don't be so upset Erik," I said trying to reassure him and calm him down. "I never really meant to spend so much time here after my father died, and your music has reawakened my love of the opera and dance. So, I asked around and there is a small theater troupe that has agreed to let me come one as a ballerina for the upcoming fall season."

Erik stared at my in amazement. "My music?" he asked.

"Yes, Erik, your music reawakened my love for the opera, I thought I had lost it after my father died, but you've brought it out of me again and I cannot thank you enough for it," I cried.

"Well, then I shan't disappoint you tonight," he said turning back to the keys and starting a soft, slow melody that sent my heart soaring. And oh my how those two weeks flew by and Madeline certainly had kept me busy up until the last second, but I always tried to find some time in the evenings to listen to Erik. He was growing up fast and soon I knew that Madeline would not be able to keep him chained to the house much longer. I had already heard whisperings in the village of a monster that walked about at night and could sometimes be heard playing the organ at the church. I knew it was Erik, but tried to squash the rumors and whispers before they reached Madeline's ears for if she knew that he was sneaking out at night, she would be furious.

On my last night there, I bade goodbye to Madeline, a sad, tearful one, and then headed to where I knew I could find Erik sitting by the harpsichord absorbed in his music. This night however, he was not sitting by the harpsichord, but he was standing by one of the windows looking out upon the gardens. I crept in quietly, "Good evening Erik."

"Good evening Adele. This is your last evening here is it not?" he asked still looking out at the garden.

"Yes, it is Erik. Will you play for me?" I asked taking my usual seat.

He sighed and nodded, "Whatever the lady wants to hear."

"Play for me the piece you played that night long ago when you first found me listening to you," I asked.

"As you wish," he said bowing his head as he began.

Oh, this was my favorite piece, such a melody has never been heard before or since I am almost certain. He played as he had never played before, and I felt as if he were putting all of himself into the music, communicating to me how much he would miss me when I left. Oh, I felt sad about leaving, and I wondered then what would become of Erik when I left, but I knew I had to. As I told him, his music had reawakened my love of music and no matter how I tried, I could not shake the music out of my head. The only thing that ever helped to relieve the sound was when I would practice my old exercises at home. In dance, I found I could lose myself in the music, give myself up to it so to speak, and so I let him play his sad, haunting song until late that night when I knew I would have to leave.

"Goodbye Erik, I hope that you find the happiness that you so yearn for," I said as I was leaving.

"And you Adele, I wish you bonne chance with your dancing, I know we will see each other again," he whispered bending down and giving me the lightest of kisses on my hand.

"Goodbye Erik…" I whispered tears in my eyes.

Madame Giry sat back in her chair, closing her eyes and sighing, "And so that was the last time I saw Erik."

"Madame?" I asked. "I thought you had said earlier that you knew him here as the Opera Ghost…" I began hoping to entice her into completing her tale.

She opened her eyes and gazed back at me. "Yes, yes I did know him here as the Opera Ghost, but that is best left for another day. I am tired now and in need of rest before I tell you anymore."

I nodded, a little disappointed, so far, this story wasn't going anywhere. All I had was some notes from the Opera Ghost, a few wild tales from the ballet girls, and now the story of a young musical genius, how did this all fit together? As my deadline grew nearer, I knew I was going to be required to turn something in to my editor or face a very long night of rewrites on my own. I did hope Madame Giry would be feeling up to finishing her tale and telling me more of how this Erik had anything to do with my story of the Opera Ghost.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Mademoiselle Giry met me in a café near the newspaper's main offices. She told me that her Mother was feeling ill that morning and she didn't want me to waste any time on my article, so she said she would meet me and tell me about the time when the Opera Ghost ruled the Paris Opera. I smiled, happy that this was turning into such a fortuitous meeting.

"So Mademoiselle, what can you tell me about the Opera Ghost?"

"Well, I am not sure how much my Mother has told you about the events at the Paris Opera before it was burned," she began quietly, putting her small hands around the china teacup.

"To be honest, Mademoiselle, she has not told me anything about the opera yet. I believe we had just stopped shy of her coming to Paris."

"Ah, well, perhaps a little background then?" she said. "Mama had spent several years in Paris touring with various theater companies while the opera house was being designed and built. During this time, she met my father (bless his soul)," she whispered bowing her head. "I was born shortly before the opera house was completed and Mama had lost her job as a ballerina because of her pregnancy, and my father had died from smallpox shortly after she discovered she was pregnant. Thankfully, the manager of the new Opera Populaire was looking for someone to be the ballet mistress, and Mama took the job in exchange for room and board. And shortly after she accepted the position and the Opera was completed, I was brought into this world…

My earliest memory of growing up is of a man who would come into my room at night and sing me to sleep. I first remember seeing him when I was a small child. He was dressed all in black with a shimmering white mask covering half of his face. I only remember seeing him then for a moment before I drifted back to sleep, but I saw him many more times as I was growing up, always late at night and always he would sing such beautiful, haunting melodies. He seemed like such a nice, kind man, and I remember trying so hard to stay awake so I could ask him questions. I tried to ask him who he was once, but he shook his head, smiled and kept on singing.

I even asked Mama who he was, and she would just get this faraway look to her face and say he was a musical genius. Little did I know that the same man who would sing me to sleep at night was the same as the Opera Ghost who tormented the managers. I didn't learn that until many years later when a young ingénue named Christine Daae came to us. She and I were the best of friends, let me tell you that, but somehow there was always a part of her that I could never reach, and I think my Mother's musical genius friend found it in her and brought it out into the open where we all could appreciate the true beauty that music can bring.

I remember shortly after Christine came to live at the Opera House, she would tell me these stories of a voice she heard in her head at night, singing to her, telling her how beautiful she was, and how someday she would be the Diva here. After growing up hearing the other ballerinas tell tales of the "Opera Ghost", I laughed and told her not to be silly, it have been her imagination. She insisted though and told me that she didn't think it as the ghost, she thought that her father had finally sent her the Angel of Music, who he had told her would teach her to sing. I didn't believe her much at first, but over the years, she did seem to be getting better and better with her singing and I knew she would soon to be too good to stay with us in the corps de ballet.

This was about the same time that Mama finally told me about her friend, about how she knew a very talented young man when she was younger and how she found him again at the Opera House.

_"Ma Petit, he has been with us our entire lives," she told me. "Remember when you were a young girl and you would ask about the man you would sometimes see in your bedroom singing to you? That was him," she said. _

_"Mama?" I had asked not quite understanding. _

_She held me close and told me how after she had left, his mother passed away from a terrible illness and he had wandered around the globe learning various trades until he finally settled in Paris to work as an architect and master mason on the Opera Populaire. "When we came to live here, he came to me one night. You were still a baby then, and I had been up for half the night taking care of you because you had been sick. He appeared in my room as if out of thin air. I was startled and surprised to see him there. I remember asking if it were really him." _

_"Yes Adele, it is indeed me," he said stepping closer to me. _

_"Erik, what in the world? Where did you come from?" I asked him looking around the room trying to figure out where in the world he may have entered from. _

_He laughed and smiled a mischievous smile, "Come now Adele, you know how I loved the study of architecture! I was one of the architects of this place, you don't think I couldn't resist putting in a few sliding doors, secret passages and the like." _

_I smiled at him remembering how he used to pour of the architecture books in his mother's library. "Ah yes, I imagine you just couldn't resist Erik! So, tell me, have you taken up residence in Paris somewhere?" _

_His eyes dropped to the floor, "Somewhere in Paris, yes." _

_"Well, where? I would be glad to come by and visit some time," I said. _

_"Adele…" he started and then stopped his eyes coming to rest on the little bundle in my arms. "Who is this?" _

_I moved the blanket aside to show him my daughter, "This is my daughter, Meg. I hope that someday she can follow in my footsteps in the ballet here." _

_He moved closer in and caressed Meg's cheek. "She's beautiful Adele. I'm sure she will be a terrific dancer, someday prima ballerina if I have anything to say about it!" _

_I sighed, "Oh Erik, let her earn it honestly." _

_"I will Adele, I will," he said and just as soon as he had come, he vanished again before my eyes. _


	5. Chapter 5

That is the first time my Mother told me about her friend Erik, the Opera Ghost. She asked me to keep his identity a secret for if the managers ever learned who he was or where he lived, he would be hunted down and destroyed, and he was too beautiful to be destroyed. I tried to keep the secret as best I could, but when Christine went missing that night after the gala, I knew something was going on. I remember sneaking into Carlotta's dressing room that morning and finding the mirror slightly ajar. I pushed it open and stepped into the hidden passageway. I didn't make it very far before my Mother came and got me. I told her that I was just worried about Christine and wanted to know where she had disappeared to.

_"Meg, my love, do not venture down there, it is not safe!" Mother said. "There are dangers down there that I cannot save you from and though he allows me to pass through them safely, it may not be for you." _

_"But Mama! What of Christine?" I asked glancing back behind me to the mirror. _

_"She is with him now. I am sure that you have figured out that he was her 'Angel of Music'." _

_"Will she ever return?" I asked. _

_"God willing, he will return her to us, but with Erik, I am never too sure what he has in store." _

"Mama was right though, Christine was returned to us late in the day and Mama sent her straight to her room to rest. She seemed different afterwards, more withdrawn, as if her meeting with Erik was too much for her. In fact, everything seemed different after Christine's disappearance. Mama was more anxious, Raoul was hanging around more often, and every thing around the opera house seemed to sizzle with the anxiety that was in the air. I remember one night months after Christine's disappearance, we were preparing for the opening night of Erik's opera, Don Juan Triumphant. It had been a particularly grueling practice and my feet were splintered and raw. I sat on the edge of my bed, rubbing my feet and trying to relax them enough that I could sleep when I heard a swooshing sound and looked up to find Erik standing there in front of me."

_"Don't be scared," he said softly. _

_I stood up and walked over to him, "I am not frightened Erik." _

_His eyes widened at the sound of his name. "You know who I am?" _

_I nodded, "Mama told me, you are the musical genius she knew as a young girl. You wrote the opera we are performing." _

_"Yes, I am that Erik," he said. "I am also the monster that haunts her dear friend Christine, I am the one she fears." _

_"I don't think she fears you," I said trying to reassure him. _

_He smiled a grim sort of smile, "I am afraid you are mistaken about that. I know she is afraid of me, she is afraid of what I may do to that damned boy if I had the chance." _

_"I heard that you had tried to kill him at the cemetery," I said slyly. "It sounded like you did not fare too well against him…" _

_"Have you been spreading gossip little Meg?" he asked putting his hand across my throat. "I do not care for gossiping women," he said darkly. _

_"Monsieur, you misunderstand me. I am not spreading gossip, I would not do that to you, I am merely stating facts that I have heard from Christine. She said that you were going to kill Raoul." _

_"No, I wouldn't kill that boy, but I wish…I wish she could see behind the monster," he admitted. _

_"Some can," I said quietly and then changing the subject, I asked, "Is there something I can help you with Monsieur?" _

_"Ah yes, I was watching rehearsal this afternoon and if you are going to play the prima part, you need much more practice! I cannot abide by a ballerina who only does her job half heartedly." _

_"Monsieur, I am doing my best, but the instruction left for Monsieur Reyer is confounding, even Mama cannot understand the instructions," I told him. _

_He stood there for a moment thinking, "Perhaps you are right, I will work on the ballet instructions tonight and will leave new instructions for Reyer by the morning." _

_"Thank you Monsieur," I said as he turned on his heel and vanished before my eyes. _

_"As promised, the next morning Monsieur Reyer had new instructions for us and we practiced until late into the night. Unfortunately, that was the last I heard or saw of Erik until the night of the fire."_

"Mademoiselle, can you tell me about the fire?" Gaston asked.

Meg sat back in her seat, "No, no I cannot. I have said too much as is already. I must get back to Mama, I only came to meet you for a little while today, it is late and I must go," she said getting up. "I will have Mama contact you when she is feeling better and let you know when you can meet again."

"Mademoiselle…" I entreated.

"No," she said hurriedly her eyes scanning the room. "I must go."

And then she was gone, and I was left with more questions than I had before. This Erik, the Opera Ghost, Christine Daae's teacher? What happened to him, did he cause the fire at the Opera House? My deadline was looming, just days away now and I had to wait until Madame Giry was in better health before learning anymore about the "Ghost".


	6. Chapter 6

Two days later I was blessed with an expected letter that was delivered to the newspaper office by someone of the de Chagny household. I eagerly tore open the envelope and opened the letter and read the following:

_My dear Monsieur Leroux, _

_Mademoiselle Giry has informed me that you are writing an article for the 30th anniversary of the Opera and asked if I would contact you in regards to the infamous Ghost of the Opera. After some reflection, I have decided that it would be better to write to you and relay the events of the evening of the fire than for you to write your own interpretation of the events. _

_I must admit, I was a bit surprised to hear that you were so interested in Erik's affairs, and do caution you to be careful in writing about him. He has never asked for publicity and does not deserve to be hunted down at this late stage in life. He was, and always shall be, my Angel of Music, the one who taught me the true beauty of music. _

_The night we performed his opera was the last night that I ever saw my Angel. I sung the lead of Aminta and he had slipped in as the part of Don Juan. I did not realize that it was he up there on stage with me until the very end, and realized that somehow I had to end his reign of terror on the Opera. I did the most unthinkable act possible in tearing off his mask and allowing the whole world to see his deformities, and I could see in the few seconds after I tore of the mask, the pain and anguish in his eyes that was shortly replaced with raw anger. He dragged me down the cellars of the Opera to his home on the lake and gave me the choice between him and Raoul. It was the hardest decision I have ever had to make, and though I loved Raoul, I chose Erik, my Angel. I kissed him that night there on the lake and I felt his body tremble with my touch. He cried in my arms, and I could see that he was just a lost little boy underneath the cold exterior that he always wore. _

_He let me go then, with Raoul, back to the light of the world above. I gave him back his ring and followed Raoul back to the boat and Raoul took me back to his family's estate. _

_We were married not two months after the events of that night and the morning of our wedding, I found a package beside my bed. It was a piece of music specifically written for the wedding with a note that read: _

_'To my dearest Christine; _

_I wish you and de Chagny the best on your wedding day. I have composed a mass for the wedding and hope that you will find it pleasing and will use it today.. _

_I shan't bother you again. Thank you for your kindness and love. _

_Your Angel, O.G.' _

_That was the last I ever heard from my Angel. I am ashamed to admit that I have not kept up with the affairs of the Opera since I retired, but when Mademoiselle Giry told me of your article, I thought it best that I write to you and warn you to be careful, but to also tell you that if you truly want to write about Erik and about the Opera House, I suggest going to the Prima's dressing room at night when everyone else has left. Slide the mirror and traverse down the passageway to the lake. If you are brave, you can survive the song of the Siren and there you will find Erik. Seek him out for he is the only one who can tell you everything you want to know. _

_Yours truly,  
Christine de Chagny _

It certainly was an interesting letter, though not much help with the article. I re-read the letter again hoping against hope that it would yield more information, but any more that Madame de Chagny knew, she was not revealing, and I knew that the only thing I could do now was to take her up on her suggestion to travel down into the bowels of the Opera House and seek out this Erik for myself.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, I met the managers at the front door of the Opera House, notebook in hand and a lamp in the other. "Bonjour Monsieurs," I greeted them putting the lamp down and shaking their hands.

Monsieur Georges spoke first, "Monsieur Leourx, bonjour. I hope that we may be able to help you finish up your article for the anniversary edition."

I smiled and nodded, "Thank you, I'm sure that I won't eat up too much of your time today. If you could just show me to the Prima's dressing room, I'll be on my way."

Monsieur Bonn stood back shocked, "The Prima's dressing room! Good God man, whatever for?"

I expected this reaction and on some level I was pleased with it. "Dear Monsieurs, I promise not to force myself upon the Prima, I merely have had some news that there may be a passageway to the sublevels of the Opera House from that room and wished to investigate it for my story."

They stood there dumbfounded for a few moments, obviously trying to reconcile the thought of letting someone like myself into a private dressing room against their need for promotion of the Opera's 30th anniversary. As luck would have it, their want of promotion and advertisement of the Opera won out and they led me back to the Prima's dressing room.

Since it was so early in the morning, we were luck that no one had yet arrived for rehearsals and after I was shown in, the managers quickly left to send a note to their Prima asking her to wait until I had left to appear. All the better, I thought. The last thing I needed was to have those two pesky managers following me as I attempted to track down this mysterious Erik.

It took me several minutes to figure out the mirror and it's turning mechanism, which was cleverly hidden. I tried to imagine the young Christine Daae sitting here in this room and hearing Erik call to her from behind the mirror. I shivered imagining what it must have been like for her, she was probably scared, or perhaps she really did believe that the voice was an angel. But to find that this angel was really a man…I mused stepping through the mirror and making my way down the dark passageway.

It didn't look like anyone had used this passageway in years, probably the last time it was used was before the performance of Erik's opera. I could almost picture him behind the glass of the mirror listening to Christine and Raoul de Chagny plan his demise. I envisioned a man standing where I was standing in fury at seeing the two lovers united, but as I ventured further into his domain, I realized that all my imaginings of his life were so far from the truth.

I kept walking further and further down the passageway and began to wonder if I would ever reach what Christine had mentioned as the lake. I was starting to sweat and my old fear of enclosed spaces started to take hold of me. I tried to fight off the feeling of claustrophobia and instead focus solely on my mission, but it was becoming more and more difficult with every step I took. I started to feel dizzy and the light coming from up ahead (the lake? I wondered) started to look hazy and I could feel my knees become weak with the effort of each step. Suddenly, I began to hear a most unearthly and beautiful voice, like that of an angel in heaven. I pushed myself further towards the light almost believing that I was a dying man. I came upon the lake and the voice became louder and louder and I followed it willingly into the water, my eyes glazing over as I fell in, exhausted with the effort. The last thing I remember before I passed out was a hand grasping at my shoulder, pulling me out of the water and exclaiming, "Who are you!?!"


	8. Chapter 8

I am not sure how long I slept, but I awoke in a darkened room, with a small candle sitting on a nightstand next to the bed I lay in. I sat up quickly wondering where I was only I have my head start swimming and I was forced to lay down again.

A voice on the other side of the room spoke, "Don't get up too quickly, you were half dead when I found you."

My eyes scanned the room seeking out the speaker, but it was not easy with the limited light. My eyes finally adjusted and I could see a dark figure standing by the door. "Are you Erik?" I asked sitting up more slowly this time.

"I am," he said simply. "Why have you come here?" he asked me.

I looked around for my notebook full of my notes of the Opera House, but it seemed to be missing. "I….I am writing an article," I stammered.

"I see," said the voice. "I have your notebook Monsieur, you seem to have done quite a bit of research on me, but I do not know why. I have never asked for anyone to write anything about me."

My mind felt slightly more at ease knowing that my notebook hadn't been lost to the lake, but I was still worried about what he might do to them if I was ever given the opportunity to leave this place. "I came across references to you in the notebooks of the Opera and was wondering who you were and what your connection with the Opera House was."

I heard him sigh, "I have no connection with that place anymore."

I protested, "But you had! I spoke to Madame Giry, her daughter, and Christine! You were very instrumental in the goings on of the Opera House for years, but I cannot seem to find anyone who will tell me what became of you after the great fire."

He turned abruptly grasping the door knob, then turned his head back in my direction, "I do not like to speak of that time," he spat at me as he slammed the door.

I heard a key enter the lock and knew that I was locked in for the time being. I sighed and stared up at the ceiling wondering how I was going to get out of here and get back up to the newspaper before my deadline. I knew the chances of me turning in the article that I had in mind was now just a dream, I would be forced to write a happy article about the anniversary and how well the opera had been doing in the years since the fire had almost destroyed it, but after all this research, that was not the kind of article I wanted to write anymore. I was much more interested in learning about Erik and writing his story, but would he tell me? This was a question I could not answer yet and I leaned my head back on the pillows and thought over how to approach him the next time I saw him. My eyes felt heavy and I could feel sleep coming on as the first sounds of organ music reached my ears. My head was swimming again, but this time, it was from the music, the unearthly music that wound itself through my consciousness until I could listen no more.


	9. Chapter 9

The next time I awoke, I found Mademoiselle Giry at my bedside pouring a cup of tea. "You are awake," she stated giving me the cup.

"Mademoiselle?" I asked taking a sip of the tea. It was warm and tasted a bit like cinnamon.

"Erik asked me to take care of you while you rested," she told me. "Once you are better, you can have your notebook back and I will lead you back up to the Opera House."

I was confused, what was Mademoiselle Giry doing here? Other than her mother and the meeting she had described to me that one day, what was her connection to this Erik? "Mademoiselle, what are you doing here?"

She smiled at me sweetly, "I live here," she told me. "Erik….I am his…he is my husband."

My eyes widened, "Your husband?"

"Yes, we married a few years after the fire," she said. "I was the one who came down here when the mob was searching for him and saved him from their wrath…" she reminisced.

_I remember Mama coming down here with Raoul, in an effort to help him save Christine. They met the Persian on the stairs and Mama left Raoul there and she came back up to look for me, but I had already gone into Christine's dressing room and turned the mirror. I crept down the passageway, hearing the mob above and knowing that I had to get down here to help. Erik, I knew from my mother, was not a monster, he was a human being! It was not an easy journey, Erik had more traps then than he has set up now and I had to watch my step. I thought that I was doing well and I thought I was getting close when I saw light coming from the lake, and then that sound ("the same sound that drew you into the lake!" she told me) started up and I could feel myself become weak, but I strengthened my resolve and covered my ears so I would not fall under the spell of the Siren. _

_Unfortunately, by the time I reached Erik's home, Christine and Raoul had already left with the Persian and the mob was closing in. I walked up to the main room where his organ is, and took in the broken mirrors all around. I knew at this point that Erik had gone into hiding, he was not here any longer. As the mob came upon his home, I picked up his mask and turned toward the mob. "He is dead," I said. "See, here is his mask." _

_One person from the mob stepped forward and said, "How do we know he is really dead? I don't see a body!" _

_I sighed and racked my brain trying to think of a way to prove that he was dead. "I saw him. He was shot by de Chagny and his body fell into the lake," I lied hoping against hope that they would believe me. _

_Thankfully they bought this story and started back up to the Opera House. I silently thanked God that they believed me and watched as they left. Once the last of them had left, I looked around the room. "Erik, you can come out, they have left," I said to the air. I did not know where he was hiding, but I hoped that he could hear me from where he was. I waited for several minutes to see if he would come out, but there was no sound anywhere in the place. I thought maybe he would come back out if I left, so I put the mask down gingerly and said to the darkness, "I am leaving this here for you Erik, I am sorry." I turned and left then hoping against hope that he was all right. _

_I didn't hear anything from him until two weeks after the fire, but one night I awoke in the middle of the night after hearing the window latch click and saw that there was a note next to my pillow. I opened the envelope and read the contents: _

_Dear Mademoiselle Giry;  
I thank you for returning my mask to me and telling the mob that I had died. I have not seen any further intruders to my home and think for the time being that I am safe. _

_I would like to meet with you soon to express my thanks to you and your mother for your silence about the events of that awful night. If you agree, please leave a note with my good friend Nadir (you know him as "The Persian"). He will give the note to me and I will send you details of where we can meet in safety. _

_Your friend,  
O.G. _

_I smiled to myself at reading the note, he was safe! I hugged the note to my breast and felt a sweet sensation in my bosom and a blush come to my cheeks. I opened the drawer in my nightstand and pulled out a piece of parchment and quickly scribbled down the following letter: _

_Dear "O.G.";   
Thank you for letting me know that you are safe, I was worried about your welfare. I would be happy to meet with you at any time, please let me know when and I will make sure to be there._

_Yours,  
Meg _

_I put the letter on my nightstand and went back to sleep. The next morning, I made my way to the Persian's apartment to deliver my letter. The Persian, or Daroga as Erik calls him, seemed surprised to see me that morning. When I explained my reason for coming and handed him the letter, he smiled sadly and promised to deliver it that afternoon. I thanked him for the effort and headed home, I knew Mama would wonder where I had gone off to so early in the morning. _

_Luckily for me, she didn't notice my absence, or if she did, she never mentioned it to me. We ate a quick breakfast and headed to a ballet studio not far from the opera house, which was being repaired. All of the chorus from the opera was gathered there for rehearsals as the managers hoped to complete the repairs quickly so that they could open again. I was not particularly enthused about the prospect of rushing through rehearsals and repairs, but Mama and I worked as fast as we could even though the chorus was greatly reduced in number, so many had run off after the fire. We practiced hard that day, but my mind wasn't on practice, I was thinking of him, of Erik. I knew I was a foolish girl to think he would notice me after being in love with Christine, but I have always been a bit of a romantic. _

_By the time practice ended and we were filing out of the dance studio, a dark figure in the shadows stepped in front of me and slipped me a note. I smiled, nodded, and slid the note into my bag and continued walking. The moment I got home, I tore into my room and opened the letter as quick as I could and smiled when I read the contents: _

_Dear Mademoiselle Giry;  
You are as prompt and polite as your mother, you are truly a credit to her greatness as a ballet mistress and mother. Since you have indicated that you would be interested meeting with me, I would like to suggest that we meet for a small dinner and introduction to my latest work tonight at the opera house. Please be out by the stables around eight p.m. _

_Your friend,  
O.G. _

_That night I feigned a headache with Mama and slipped out of my room at seven thirty and headed to the Opera House. I had dressed in one of my better dresses for the occasion and was anxious about the meeting. I knew they were still working on repairs of the Opera House and hoped that no one would see me loitering around the stables area. I needn't worry though, most of the laborers seemed to leave the site for an evening romp around eight o'clock and as the last of them left, I saw a dark shadow creep across the stable and was no less surprised to find Eric in front of me in a matter of minutes. _

_"Mademoiselle," he said to me bowing humbly. _

_"Monsieur," I replied curtseying. _

_He extended a gloved hand to me and I took it, trembling from being so close to him and from the sheer excitement of the anticipation. He gave me a small, sad smile and led me through the stable doors to a trapdoor he had hidden towards the back of the stalls. He lifted the door up and helped me through to the ladder underneath. _

_"Be careful Mademoiselle, I am sorry to say that I have not taken as good care of this entryway as I should have…" he warned me. _

_I looked up at him and nodded as I continued down the ladder. It was a bit nerve-racking going down the ladder into the darkness. I barely knew what was beneath me and what to expect, but I knew that Erik would not let me be harmed. I remember venturing further and further down that ladder until at last I came to the last rung and stepped gingerly down on the cold cement below. I could hear the sound of water around me and that eerie voice again. _

_"My dear, ignore the voice," he whispered in my ear and turning toward the lake that was around us he spoke in a commanding voice, "This one is not for you Siren." _

_The voice abruptly ceased and Erik turned back toward me, "Only a bit further Mademoiselle." _

_I smiled gently at him trying to reassure him that I was all right and not bothered by the lake or that Siren song. He continued to lead me along to path near the lake until we came to a darkened door. At the door, he took a golden skeleton key out of his coat pocket and put it in the keyhole. When the latch clicked and the door opened, he smirked and said to me, "Gold opens the locks, and silver will close them." I thought at the time it was a rather cryptic remark, but after spending so much time down here, I now know he meant that to put a silver key in one of these keyholes would mean death to whomever tried the door. Erik always was a very clever man. _

At this pronouncement, she stopped and her eyes dropped to her hands on her lap. "Mademoiselle?" I asked hoping she was all right.

Her breathing was labored and she sighed heavily her eyes meeting mine. "I am weak Monsieur, you must forgive me. I will come back again tomorrow and we shall talk more," she said as she stood up and slowly made her way to the door. "Bonne nuit"


	10. Chapter 10

She left quickly that night and I found myself alone again in the room. I did not know when he would let me leave, but I could feel the passage time passing me by. I knew I was dangerously close to missing my deadline, but I did not care anymore, I cared only of the story. The story of Erik. I had only seen him once thus far, but I was intrigued. Who was he really? Were he and Mademoiselle Giry really married? And what of Madame Giry? Where had she gotten to? These questions swirled around my mind as I could feel sleep starting to descend upon me, but I tried to keep my eyes open and my mind alert in case Erik stopped in again. As luck would have it, Erik did make another appearance, late again as I was asleep when he must have entered, but upon waking, I saw him sitting in a chair across from the bed in which I lay. I struggled to sit up and regarded him warily.

"Meg has been by today, has she not?" he asked quietly.

I felt he already knew the answer to this and was just trying to make some sort of small talk. I nodded, "She has been."

"Ah good," he said. "She left the teapot here I see," he said inclining his head to the white porcelain teapot on the nightstand on my right.

"It was very good tea Monsieur, I do not think I have ever had one quite like it," I said trying to keep the conversation on a topic I thought may be easier for him.

He smirked in the darkness, "No, I daresay you haven't. It is cardamom tea, I acquired it while I was in Persia many a year ago. My dear friend, the Daroga brings me new shipments of it every now and again."

I had never heard of such a tea, but dismissed it as my mind grasped at his new revelation—he had lived in Persia! "Monsieur, if I may ask, you say you lived in Persia?"

I heard him sigh and run a hand through his hair. "Yes," he said with a note of bitterness in his voice. "Yes, I lived there for a time. I was the khanum's 'pet' as it were."

Ever the journalist, I pressed on despite the fact that I could tell he did not want to divulge any more information about his time in Persia. "What did you do there?"

"Anything the khanum required of me. I was known as the 'trap-door lover' there for my love of creating trapdoors, secret rooms, and other unspeakables. It was not a pleasant time in my life and I was quite lucky to get out of there alive. If it were not for my friend, the Daroga, I may have been a display for the khanum to show others what happens to those who disobey orders," he said and then added, "Not that I've ever been one for following orders!"

"So I've heard," I murmured.

Erik laughed suddenly, "I just bet you have Monsieur, I just bet you have! The crimes I perpetrated in Persia were mere child's play, I was bored, restless, and enjoyed the comforts of palace life there, but I disliked the khanum's fickle nature. It was a relief to come back here to Paris, to the Opera."

"I imagine it was, I have heard stories of the Persian royalty, they do enjoy their games, do they not?" I asked.

"That they do, but it was a good way to spend some time after Italy."

"Italy?" I asked wondering how much traveling this man had done in his life.

"Yes, Italy, and that sir, I request that you do not write about in your article. You may write about my mother, how she never loved me, how this mask was my first piece of clothing. You may write about Persia, you may even write about Christine Daaė, but of Italy, you shan't write anything," he said getting up abruptly.

I could see a lone tear sliding down his face as he turned toward the door. "I think one more day here should be enough rest for you Monsieur, and then you can go back to your newspaper with the story of Erik, the Opera Ghost."


	11. Chapter 11

When I next awoke, I expected to see Mademoiselle Giry sitting before me, but instead was surprised to see Erik sitting in the chair across from me again. He had his eyes half closed and was humming a tune I did not recognize. It almost lulled me back to sleep, but I fought the urge and tried to stay awake as I knew this may be the last opportunity I had to speak with him. I spoke quietly trying not to jolt him out of his reverie, "Bonjour Monsieur."

His eyes flew open and he regarded me with some degree of interest. "Ah, you are finally awake I see, shall we continue then?"

I nodded wishing I had my notebooks back so I could write all of this down, but I knew I would have to try to rely on my sometimes faulty memory.

"I believe we had left off during my stay in Persia, correct?" he asked. When I nodded, he continued, "When I left Persia, I did not know quite what to do with myself. I had been the servant of so many men over the years, it felt strange to finally be on my own. I wandered around Europe for a time, desperately looking for something, something to fill this void I felt in my life. I finally came back to my home in France to see my mother once again…

_I had arrived early in the morning at my mother's home after having traveling all night in an effort to get there before the first rays of dawn. I did not want to arouse any suspicions from the townsfolk as they had always been frightened of me, even when I was just "the monster who lived in the mansion on the hill", they were foolish people. Thankfully, I had managed to push the horse a bit faster through the night to be at her doorstep before dawn. In an effort to try and observe some of the niceties of society, I put my horse in the stable and walked up to the door and knocked. There was no answer at first, which did not surprise me considering the hour, but after the second and third knock, I was getting impatient. Finally, the door opened a slight crack and a white face peered out from the door. _

_"Erik!" the woman gasped._

_I bowed, "Mademoiselle Perrault_."

_She opened the door for me and I stepped into the parlor surveying my surroundings. The house had changed little since I was a child and took my flight from here. There were small changes though and from the look of them, it appeared that my dear mother had attempted to erase any memory that I had lived there. The piano was now covered with a heavy drapery, and the architecture books that once lined the shelves in the library were not bare and dust covered. In fact, the entire house smelled of mold and dust, almost deathlike and I shivered. "Mademoiselle, where is my mother?" I asked her._

_"She is dead," Mademoiselle Perrault told me simply. When she saw my surprised look, her face crumpled, "Oh, Erik, I thought you knew. I thought that was why you came back. The funeral will be held this morning at the church in town."_

_My heart hardened, so she had managed to evade my presence yet again. Damn her! She could never find the time for me and even in death, she had made it so I could not pay my last respects, having the funeral in the town! In front of all those foolish, unworthy people! I paced back and forth across the prized Persian rug my Grandfather had bought my Mother when she and my father moved here. _

_"The house is to be given to the church tomorrow, your mother had grown quite religious in your absence," Mademoiselle Perrault told me. "You are welcome to spend the day here today and take anything you wish, I believe that most of her affects will be sold to charity after the church takes over."_

_I bowed again, "Thank you Mademoiselle. I will stay for the day then," I told her. She curtsied and left the room in a hurry. When I heard her small footsteps echoing in the hallway and was certain she had left this wing of the house, I tore the drapery off the piano and settled down at the bench. I sighed fingering some of the keys and thinking of how I used to spend so many evenings in front of the piano with my mother's friend Adele Giry. She was the one bright spot in my childhood, someone who understood the power of music. I remembered playing for her night after night, coming up with new tunes to try and make her smile. But all happy memories have their sad moments too, and I could not help but reflect on the night she left our home. I remembered her saying that I had helped reawaken her love of music and she would be going to Paris to join a small theater troupe that had taken her on as a ballerina, and I half wondered what had happened to her. I decided at that moment that after playing my mother a Requiem Mass tonight in the rectory, I would travel to Paris to find Adele._

He stopped there for a moment his eyes closing. "The Requiem I played for her that night was something that could not be equaled anywhere. I lost myself in that piece, pouring out my soul's frustration and sadness into it. I knew then that my passion wasn't stonemasonry, it wasn't inflicting terror on those less fortune, it was music. And so I followed my passion to Paris, to Adele and her new family, to the Opera House above us…"


	12. Chapter 12

_I came into Paris again at night, but instead of finding deserted streets, I found a vibrant city. The streets were crowded and I had difficulty finding a place to rest and put my horse until the next night. I was lucky to find a boarding house close to the theaters where the woman was kind enough to not ask questions. I slept uneasily during the day, the sound of people coming in and out all day was quite disruptive and I knew that this was not a place that I could sneak around unnoticed, I would need to find permanent lodgings soon lest the noise drive me to the bottle. _

_I spent most of the next night perusing theater after theater in search of Adele, but I had little luck finding here, though I did catch a few whispered remarks about a new Opera House being designed. I tried to listen to more news about the designs but only managed to catch, "Garnier" and "Rue De Lyon". From those snippets, I set about finding Garnier and work with him to complete the Opera House. _

_Once on site there, I knew it would be the perfect place for a home, due to a swampy underground section below where the Opera House was to be constructed, we had to dredge the lake almost eight hours a day, but I slipped the suggestion to Garnier that it may be a better idea to leave the lake as is, and build the Opera House around it. The idea was immediately accepted and the workers were happy to have that task over with and I was happy adjusting the plans to add trapdoors, secret passageways, and staircases that led down to what I now referred to as my "lair" on the edge of the lake. No one seemed to notice the changes in the design and I worked on them alone in the dead of night after all the laborers had left. Unfortunately, due to the Franco-Prussian War, I had to seal off many of the passageways and seal the staircases lest my new home be discovered. I hid out here during the war listening the sounds of the prisoners being tortured mere feet away from my walls, but I kept working feverishly on my home until finally it was over and Garnier came back and we could finish the work._

_I must say, it was a splendid building, although I heard mention that the Empress was not impressed. Garnier charmed her though and our opening night was a huge success. Happy to have the music above me and my new home complete now with a pipe organ of my own. I was pleased with my work and even more pleased when one night when I was prowling around the Opera to find Adele again! I saw her practicing one evening after she had dismissed the ballet rats and was glad to see that she was here and was working as the ballet mistress. I visited her in her rooms not too long after that as I had many secret hallways and trick mirrors placed in the rooms so I could come and go as I please. That was the first time I had ever seen Meg, or Little Giry as I liked to call her. Adele and I met many times over Meg's life and I used to visit her at night and sing her to sleep. This was a good time in the Opera, the managers were reasonable men who only needed a little nudging from the "Opera Ghost" to pay me my salary and Adele was fond of bringing Little Giry now to my home at night to listen to me play as she had when we were both young._

_Unfortunately, as I have said, all happy memories have their sad moments, and this is no different for when Christine came to the Opera, everything fell apart._

He stopped there for a moment, his eyes closing as he sighed and whispered the name, "Christine…"

I knew that this would be one of the more painful parts of his life for him to recount and was in no way going to rush him and risk the chance that he would leave without divulging any information. I stayed quiet and averted my gaze until he finally spoke again.

_Christine was my angel. She thought I was an angel, but she truly was one. I had never met anyone with such a voice, her voice, I knew, was the perfect companion to my music. She had a pureness to her voice that seemed to wrap itself around the darkness that was often prevalent in my music. I dared not approach her for years after she came to the Opera, I was too afraid you see. I had never felt such feelings before, I had always viewed most of my fellow men and women to be beneath me, the only person I ever thought was worth my time was my friend the Daroga and Adele. But the feelings I had for Christine was unlike those I had for my friends, and it burned within me. I was frightened of these feelings and dared not show them to anyone, but as the years went on, I could stand it no longer. I had stayed below for so many years composing my music with the sound of her voice inside my head that one night I was wandering through the secret passageways singing mostly to myself and she heard me! I stopped behind the mirror of her dressing room in shock, I had not realized that she was still there! _

_"Angel?" she asked looking around her._

_It was then that I got the idea to pretend to be an Angel for her. And from that night on, I would steal away to the mirror and sing to her. I taught her how to train her voice to sing like that of a diva and through those lessons I learned how her father had died and promised to send her the Angel of Music, which is who I believe she thought I was. Things were going along perfectly until the night of the gala when that damned youth came and interrupted what was such a beautiful union of song. I knew that if I were to have any chance of keeping her bound to her Angel and to the music, I would have to lead her down to my lair and show her the true magic of the music._

"From all accounts you did at some point, bring her here?" I asked.

He nodded, "I did indeed. On the night after her gala performance, I lured her down her and sung her the most beautiful song that I had ever composed, one I had composed especially for her. She was mesmerized by my voice and by the whole experience, but the next day when she awoke, she was too curious for her own good and took my dignity away. I lashed out at her and when I finally came to my senses and saw her sitting on the floor near the organ in tears, I knew that I could not keep her down here with me.

I took her back to the Opera instead and gave the managers strict instruction that she should play the lead in their next opera. I knew they would disobey my orders as they were simple men, and were unwilling to give up what they considered their "star." So, as I am sure that you read in the papers, there was a great disaster that night, and the great Carlotta had suddenly lost her voice. I was happy with the way things went on stage, Carlotta was hiding back in her dressing room sobbing, Buquet was dead, and I thought at that moment that Christine would finally be the diva and would be thankful for all that I had done for her."

"But she wasn't?" I asked prompting him to continue his story.

"No." he answered sharply. "She was certainly not grateful. In fact, when I followed her to the rooftop, I was unfortunate enough to witness her declaring her love for that wretched fop. I was torn apart with grief, she was my angel, the inspiration for my music, and there she was in the arms of another! I was so angry with her, I cut off all lessons for months after the night of Carlotta's accident. I would sometimes still creep up to the mirror at night and I heard her asking for her teacher, her angel to return, but I could not. Not then. I took my anger, frustration, and her betrayal and buried myself in my music. At the turn of the new year, I had completed my opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_. It was at that point that I reinitiated contact with her, at the masked ball.

I thought I could hold my emotions in check when I saw her again, but seeing her with him at the masked ball just made my blood boil. I arrived shortly after midnight, my costume that of the Red Death, and I stalked down the stairway, stopping to taunt the managers and Carlotta along the way. I never could resist a little teasing of their diva," he chuckled softly.

I nodded hoping he would continue. I had read in the papers of the mysterious "Red Death" at the masked ball and how he had threatened Carlotta and Paigni and then Christine.

"But then I saw Christine standing there at the bottom of the stairs looking up at me with fear in her eyes. That boy had run off on her leaving her to herself and looking at her, I was lost for a moment. Lost in the moment, lost in her beauty. But when I saw the ring around her neck, I knew her betrayal was complete, she would not choose me willingly. I let her go that evening with a warning, but my obsession with her grew, even more so after the scuffle I had with that boy at the cemetery. After that, I knew I would have to take her during _Don Juan, _it would be the only way…."

"I read about the night of the premiere of _Don Juan_, and the fire," I murmured.

"Ah yes," Erik sighed, "The fire was the talk of Paris for weeks afterward, the only good thing was that people were so obsessed with the fire and rebuilding the theater, that the story of the Opera Ghost was quickly forgotten. Christine left with Raoul and they got married in a quiet ceremony a few months later. Myself, I retired to my home here, I had no interest in anything above ground."

I looked at him quizzically wondering how Mademoiselle Giry figured into his life after the fire. Erik looked at my bewildered expression and smiled, "You are wondering how Meg came to live here with me, are you not?"

"I must admit Monsieur, I am curious," I said trying my best to not sound foolish.

"Then I shall let my dear wife tell the story and I will take my leave of you," he said getting up and moving toward the door.

"No!" I almost shouted. "Will I never see you again Monsieur?"

He smiled sadly, "I will lead you back up to the opera house later tonight when it is safe. I think you have enough information to write your story now."

I nodded as he slipped out of the room and I was left by myself. I sighed wishing that I had my notebooks with me, I had learned so much from him and yet, I couldn't write down any of it, I had to rely on my memory. And I was sorry to say that my memory was not what it once was, but I tried not to let that bother me as I started to drift off into a dreamless sleep to the sound of the music coming from outside the room.


	13. Chapter 13

When I next awoke, Mademoiselle Giry was seated in the chair beside the bed dabbing a wet washcloth on my head. I groaned and tried to sit up.

"No Monsieur, lay back," she cautioned. "This is your last night here, please rest while you can."

I nodded and lay back on the pillows as I watched her wring out the washcloth in the basin on the bedside table. She looked tired but there was a slight content look to her face that age could not hide. She didn't even glance at me as she went about her work and only began talking after she had poured some more of that _cardamom_ tea and sat down beside me.

"Erik has told me that you wanted to know about how I came to live down here," she stated simply taking a sip of her tea.

"Yes I do. You had mentioned that you saved him from the mob that night, but what happened afterward? What happened when you came down here that first time? When did you know you loved him? When did you get married?" I shot out questions at a rapid pace feeling like I barely had enough time to ask.

She smiled and sat back putting the teacup back on the table, "I can answer one of those questions right away, I knew I loved Erik from the first time I saw him when I was a child. That man who would come to me at night and sing me to sleep and watch over me at night, that was the first and only man that I have ever loved. When Christine began to talk of her 'angel', I must admit I was jealous. I didn't want her to have him, he was mine, he was all I ever wanted ever since I can remember. That night when I saved him from that mob, I had no illusions that it would lead to anything, let alone to our life together, but I am happy it did..." she trailed off.

I took a sip of my tea letting the flavor of cinnamon rest against my tongue for a moment before I spoke again, "Mademoiselle, what happened that night you came down here with him after the fire?"

"Ah, that night," she said. "I had begun to tell you about it had I not? Where did I leave off?"

"You had just arrived at the house at the lake and he was opening the door..." I prompted her.

"That was it," she murmured closing her eyes.

_He opened the door with the golden key and led me over the threshold. As I entered, he pulled away a curtain revealing the grand organ he had placed there when he built the house and then turned to me and said, "Welcome to my palace Little Giry."_

_I smiled and felt a blush coming to my cheeks. I looked around the room that, at the last time I saw it, been thoroughly trashed and now there it was in its former splendor. "Oh, it's absolutely beautiful," I breathed._

_He smiled, something I had only seen him do on a rare occasion and my heart skipped a beat as the realization that I made him smile took hold in my mind. "I wanted to show you how beautiful this place could be, I am afraid that the last time you were here, things were quite askew."_

_I laughed, "You could say that! The last time I was here, there was broken glass everywhere and you were no where to be found."_

_He hung his head, "I was a coward. I didn't want to face the mob, I didn't want to see their accusing eyes and hear them call me monster as they tied me up and took me up to the main streets of Paris," he paused, "All I ever wanted my Little Giry was to find someone who loved me and who I could share my music with. I thought...I thought that was Christine."_

_I saw his shoulders begin to shake and tears started to fall down his face. "Erik," I said quietly. "Erik, would you share that music with me?" When I said that, his entire face lit up, I don't think he had ever been as happy as that moment and he took both of my hands in his and nodded. _

_"Little Giry, I will play for you as I played for your mother before, but for you, I shall play a song from my opera," he said._

_"Oh no Erik, not Don Juan!" I protested thinking of the strange music that had played as his opera before._

_"No my dear, this piece was never added to that opera, I kept it for myself and for someone who would appreciate my music," he said taking his seat at the organ. _

_I braced myself for the strange sounds that I had heard in his opera before and the loudness of the organ, but instead he leaned down and took a violin out of a case beside the organ. When he began playing, the violin was soft and the melody overtook me almost immediately. I felt my body start to sway to the sound of the strings and as he picked up speed, I began to dance. My feet felt like they were flying above the ground as I glided, pirouretted, and spun to the sound of his music. My hair, which had been tied around my head in a very ladylike bun, had broken free and swirled around me as I spun in time to the music. I barely glanced at Erik, but I could feel his eyes on me and that made my steps even lighter. I never knew music that could make me feel that way before, but by the time he finished, I was panting from exercision and I knew then that even if I never saw him again, my life would never be the same. Anyone who has ever heard Erik's music, their lives will be forever altered, it has almost a magic to it that as my Mother says, the music lives inside you forever no matter how long it has been since you last heard it or him. That night, I knew she was right, I would never forget the sound of the violin or of how it affected me._

_Erik put the violin down gently and came over to where I was standing shaking. "Little Giry, are you all right?" he asked putting his hands on my shoulders._

_I felt as if I would melt right there, the feel of his hands, those talented hands on me, I thought I would die right there. I could barely talk so I nodded and my hair fell around my face._

_"Your hair," he whispered touching it and moving it gently behind my ear. I heard him take in a shaky breath, "Gods above, you have become a woman Little Giry. Where is that little girl I used to sing to sleep at night?" he asked._

_I took his hand in mine, "She's still here Erik, I am here."_

_His hands were shaking, "But for how long? How long?"_

_I felt bold for a moment and took his hand and kissed it, "For as long as you want me my love," I said._

_He looked at me then and I saw tears in his eyes again, "Forever," he said. "Forever and always my darling Meg, my Little Giry, forever and always."_

"And that Monsieur is how I came to live down here. I never thought in my wildest dreams that Erik would ever have me and there he was offering himself to me, all I needed to do was ask."

I smiled picturing that night, of two people coming together and Erik finally knowing love, the love that I knew that he deserved. Every human being deserves to be loved, deformed as he was, Erik was no different, he deserved that love too. "I am glad he found you Mademoiselle, I can tell that you care very deeply for him."

"I do," she said, "I have loved him for such a long time, I am finally with him and it makes me so happy. So very happy..." she trailed off gazing off into the distance.

"And will you ever bear his children?" I asked not being able to contain my curiosity.

"Erik has always said no to children, he has never wanted to spread his 'disease' as he calls it," she answered sadly.

"And you, what do you want?" I asked.

"I have what I want, I just need to tell him," she said slyly a hand covering her belly. "I am due in the winter."

"Ah," I said comprehension dawning on me. "I wish you the best with the news."

She smiled and winked at me, "Shush," she said. "Erik will be in shortly to take you back up to the opera house. I will say 'Adieu' to you and wish you the best with your article. Goodbye Monseiur."

"Goodbye Mademoiselle," I replied as she left the room.


	14. Chapter 14

A little later, Erik came back to the room a sad look on his face. "It is time Monseiur."

I nodded, I knew that it was time. There was nothing more for him to tell me and no more that I dared ask of him. He helped me up out of the bed and I smiled at Mademoiselle Giry as we left. He led me along the lake to a staircase.

"Follow this staircase up, then follow the path to the mirror. There will be a lever on your right—pull it and you will be back in the diva's room."

"Thank you," I said holding out my hand.

He looked down at my outstretched hand and clasped it and shook it trembling. "Thank you monsieur. I wish you the best with your story."

He turned away from me then and as I climbed the stairway back to the Opera House, I heard the Erik, the Phantom, at the organ singing a haunting song.

"Too many years fighting back tears…why can't the past just die? Wishing you were somehow here again…knowing we must say goodbye… Try to forgive…teach me to live…give me the strength to try!"

And with that I stepped through the mirror and back into the diva's dressing room.


End file.
